


Crystal Confusion

by animehead



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, Oral Sex, Rimming, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-29
Updated: 2012-09-29
Packaged: 2017-11-15 07:05:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/524502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/animehead/pseuds/animehead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gamzee just wants to help his moirail clear his mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crystal Confusion

You wanted to wait.

 

Not _wait_ in the same aspect as humans saving themselves for marriage--whatever the fuck that means--but _wait_ in the sense that your fucking friends are nearby and might _hear_ you if you’re not careful. 

 

But it’s hard to explain that to him. Fuck, it’s hard to even remember your name when his claws gently scratch at your calf and his tongue glides up your thigh in that way that makes you think you have him in the wrong quadrant altogether. 

 

He finds a sensitive spot, laps at it, and the pleasure that shoots up your spine is enough to make you reach down and grab his horns to keep yourself from crumpling to the ground. When he adds fuel to that already scorching fire by dragging his jagged fangs along that same wet path, you have to clamp a hand over your mouth and curse into it. 

 

He stops then, eyes half-lidded, stupid fucking grub-eating clown grin on his face. “What you all up and do a thing like that for?” he asks. “A motherfucker likes to hear those sounds. Gotta know he’s doing a good motherfuckin’ job.”

 

“Shut the fuck up,” you whisper behind your hand. “Someone’s going to hear you.”

 

“You got it, brother.” He stops talking and presses his mouth to your inner thigh, his lips heated against your skin. He kisses his way up, tongue peeking out to taste the ever increasing candy red wetness dripping from between your thighs. When he grasps your ankle with his hand and drapes it across your shoulder, you stare down questioningly at him. 

 

“What the hell are you--” Your question is interrupted by the embarrassing moan that topples from your mouth. His tongue explores your nook, parting flesh, teasing and tasting, and making your knees shake. 

 

You breathe a small sigh of relief when he pulls back and replaces his tongue with his fingers. That’s perfectly fine. You can handle that. 

 

_It’s not like you’ve never done it on your own before._

 

His fingers delve into you, bony and hard, fucking you and reaching places that your short ones aren’t capable of even grazing. He coaxes your bulge from its sheath, gentle fingertips stimulating it--and you--to the point where you’re ready to scream in both dirty pale pleasure and fucking flushed confusion. 

 

“G-Gamzee,” you manage to whisper, and you’re pretty fucking proud of that feat, “w-wait. I need to figure this shit out.”  

 

He stills his fingers, but he doesn’t take them off or out of you. “Nah,” he says and shakes his head. “You gotta let that shit go. A motherfucker can’t be all wound up all the time. Can’t be letting my moirail get his pan all bogged down by motherfuckin’ stress. Stuff he ain’t go no control over. You can’t be bottling them thoughts like that, brother. You gotta release that shit and I’m the motherfucker that’s all supposed to help you do it.” 

 

When his mouth wraps around the tip of your bulge and two of fingers shove deep inside of you, you cry out and slam your head backward against what is possibly the hardest fucking door in the history of any fucking door ever made. 

 

He rolls one eye up at you, widened, silently asking you if you’re okay? You attempt to glare down at him, but you’re sure you look more like you’re going to cry from how good you feel even if you’re head is throbbing. Not that it matters anyway.  

 

_Everything is throbbing at this point._

 

You close your eyes and breathe heavily through your mouth. He’s figured out a perfect rhythm, down and up, in and out, his head bobs, mouth descending and rising, sometimes he’ll let your bulge slip out completely and simply blow on the tip. He gets a kick out of watching it twitch and eagerly seek out his tongue. 

 

His fingers continue to fuck you, pumping, rotating, perfectly in sync with his mouth and you wonder how the fuck did he learn to do this. Are there instructions on how to murder your moirail with your tongue on the back of the bottles of that shitty ass Faygo he likes so much?

 

He slips his fingers out of you and pulls back again. You watch, cheeks dusting red when he sucks both digits into his mouth and smiles lopsidedly at you. When all traces of red are gone from them, he helps you lower your leg from his shoulder.

 

“Turn around.”

 

“Why?” You’re having enough trouble just standing on your own and now he wants you to actually move. Fuck that. 

 

“A motherfucker has an idea,” he says. 

 

“All your ideas are stupid, Gamzee,” you whisper back. “Every fucking one of them has ended in either pointlessness or fucking chaos.”

 

“Yeah, I hear that, brother,” he says with a chuckle and reaches up to grip your hips, turning you around himself. 

 

You end up with your face against the door, the surface is cool and gives a bit of relief to your heated skin. You can just barely hear your friends talking nearby. They don’t seem to be saying anything important or even remotely interesting and you’re not surprised because they’re idiots. All of them. 

 

Every last one of them is--

 

_Fuck!_

 

Wait. Did you shout that out loud or inside your head? You don’t even know. How _could_ you know when Gamzee has his tongue in your ass, his fingers in your nook, and his hand wrapped around your bulge? You know the awkward position he’s in must be uncomfortable, even for his gangly arms, but it feels so good and so wrong and so terrible and so fucking _perfect_ that you can’t bring yourself to focus on any single thought for too long. 

 

“Karkat?” You hear what is distinctly Kanaya’s voice just outside the door. “Is everything okay?”

 

Fuck! It was out loud. Fucking Gamzee and his stupid fucking ideas! 

 

“Y-Yeah, I’m good. Every thing’s...” Gamzee slips his fingers out of your nook in favor of using that particular hand to help spread your ass and shove his tongue deeper inside of you, “fiiiiiiiiine.”

 

“You don’t sound fine,” Kanaya says. “Where’s Gamzee?”

 

He flicks his tongue back and forth inside of you and you whimper and thump your head against the door. You reach back, trying in vain to push him away, but he ignores your hand for a couple of seconds before finally pushing it out of the way. 

 

“I... d-don’t know. What am I his... keeper?” 

 

“Yes,” Kanaya answers. 

 

Gamzee chooses to place either of his hands on your hips and rocks you back and forth against his tongue. You want to cry out, but Kanaya is right there asking you stupid questions and the last thing you want is her and that fucking chainsaw bursting into the room. 

 

You don’t cry out, but you do dig your claws into the door and drag them downward, creating scratches along its surface. 

 

“Around,” you say. “You should go l-look for him.”

 

“I thought he was with you,” Kanaya says. 

 

None of this can be real. You have to be dreaming, or dead. You can’t imagine being alive and feeling this type of pleasure. It shouldn’t exist. 

 

_It feels so incredible._

 

“Oh, fuck,” you moan softly against the door. “Gamzee...” 

 

“What’s wrong?” Kanaya says. “I’m coming in there.”

 

Your head snaps up at that just as Gamzee slides a couple of fingers back inside of you.  “I’ve got a better idea!” You shout, unable to control the volume or pitch of your voice. “Why don’t you go away?!”  

 

_You’re so close._

 

Your entire body is tightly strung, rigid and on the verge of cracking. It’s obvious that Gamzee has no plans of stopping and you don’t particularly want Kanaya to hear what’s about to happen if she lingers around for too long. But thankfully, she either knows what’s going on or decides it’s not worth her time because you hear the sound of her retreating footsteps. It’s a good thing, too. 

 

_You explode a second later._

 

Well, not really, _explode_ , but...

 

Your hips jerk violently and genetic material gushes from your nook. The wood beneath your hands splinters and breaks when you dig your claws into it. You don’t feel Gamzee’s tongue inside of you, but you can sense that he’s still behind you, watching, mesmerized like the juggalo freak he is, by the shudder of your spine and the tremble of your thighs. 

 

You might as well be having a fucking seizure. 

 

“That’s some shake, brother,” he says. 

 

“Shut your fucking mouth,” you manage to say, though it’s a lot more breathy than it is demanding. 

 

“So?” 

 

You turn around on wobbly legs and face him. “So what?”

 

“You good now?” He asks. “Your pan all clear and what not?”

 

You stare down at him. He’s still on his knees, lips and chin dripping, temporarily stained with red. You shudder. What the fuck else can you do?

 

“I don’t...” You sigh. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to think about this.” 

 

“You’re not supposed to think anything, brother.” He stands up and takes your chin in his hand. “Just all up and get your relax on.”

 

“Do you ever listen to the shit that spews from your mouth,” you say. “You’re the only one capable of not thinking. Everyone else isn’t given that fucking luxury.”

 

He lets go of your chin then and you think for a second that you might of actually offended him. Now you have to apologize. Fucking great. You hate apologizing. You always end up rambling on, but before you can even open your mouth, you end up standing there flabbergasted when he starts to pull down his pants. 

 

It reminds you that you should probably make an attempt to walk across the room to retrieve yours and put them back on. 

 

“What the fuck are you doing?” You ask. 

 

“The way I see it,” he begins, “if your pan is still all bogged and cloudy after that, it means a motherfucker’s got more work to do.” 

 

Your eyes widen when his pants fall around his ankles and he leans against you, bulge already unsheathed with the promise to clear your mind. 

 

“Work to do,” you repeat, your breath fanning against his lips. “I’m not a fucking job for you to get done.”

 

“Nah, my moirail brother,” he agrees. “You’re more like a hobby, something I enjoy doing, like drinking Faygo”

 

“Drinking that shit is not a hobby,” you whisper against his lips. “It’s a disability.” 

 

He doesn’t reply because he’s kissing you, hard and deep, and it’s all too red and you’re supposed to be pale, but eventually it doesn’t matter because he’s inside of you and fuck does it feel fantastic. 

 

When he breaks the kiss to bite at your neck, your shoulder, your ear, you still don’t speak because you don’t want to ruin the moment, whatever type of fucking moment it is. All he wants you to do is _feel_ and for the first time in forever, you’re willing to comply. 

 

You have to bury your face against his neck to keep your moans and shouts at a level where Kanaya doesn’t come back. You’ve also warned him, your legs wrapped tightly around his waist, that if he drops you, you’ll snap off his horns and skewer him with them. 

 

You know he’s fucked up because he grunts and gasps and finishes inside of you from that, but you’re not much better because you’re right behind him. When he sets you down onto your feet, you glance down and shiver. 

 

It looks like someone had a culling party and forgot to invite everyone except for highbloods and freaks. 

 

Gamzee lowers himself down to the floor and grips your hand, taking you with him. The two of you sit, half naked, with your backs against the door. You stare blankly at the wall in front of you. 

 

“That pan all up and clear now, brother?” He asks. 

 

“Crystal,” you say, and look over at him, and for the moment, it genuinely is.


End file.
